


It's Not As Fun As It Sounds (And Other Stories)

by NeoVenus22



Category: Stargate Atlantis, Stargate SG-1
Genre: 5 Things, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-02-02
Updated: 2010-02-02
Packaged: 2017-10-06 23:21:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,847
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/58848
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NeoVenus22/pseuds/NeoVenus22
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Five things that didn't happen when John Sheppard took his team to Earth.</p>
            </blockquote>





	It's Not As Fun As It Sounds (And Other Stories)

**Author's Note:**

> Spoilers: Generic season 2/3; references to 1x04, 'Thirty-Eight Minutes'; SG-1 generic season 9/10.

**I.**  
"This is bad," John observed, trying to give the jumper a little more juice, but getting nothing in return. They were definitely stuck.

Next to him, Teyla frowned deeply, lost in consideration. "Is it the... drive pods?" she said carefully. Even though the tech part wasn't her area of expertise, Teyla was careful to attempt to remember important details from missions past. Her quick and always working mind was one of the many reasons she was on his team.

"No, they've retracted. We're on auto pilot now, or at least, we will be until the ship realizes that we're not actually doing anything, and we lose all momentum altogether." John tapped his fingers against the dash restlessly.

"Can we not back up and try again?"

"No go. We've got a couple vessels on our six."

Teyla was tense. "I think we should reconsider our course of action, Col. Sheppard."

"I think we should just go home," he sighed. "Listen, do me a favor. If we somehow manage to make it out of this unscathed... don't ever mention this to Rodney."

"You have my word." Teyla smiled indulgently, and while John was relieved about that, it didn't exactly help ease his mind about the situation at hand.

He ran through a mental list of escape scenarios, but none of them seemed viable, given the circumstances. "Col. Sheppard, I do believe our pursuers are getting restless." John did in fact hear the angry hum of the vehicles behind him, dulled by the thick walls of the jumper.

"Yeah, well, if they'd give me a little room!" he yelled irritably, although they could hear him less well than he could hear them. Teyla didn't even blink at his road rage. "I wish this damn thing had a horn."

"We could try engaging the reverse thrusters," she suggested with patience.

John had never been the type to take backseat driving well, but she had a point. "It could get messy," he conceded, "but okay. Engaging reverse thrusters."

The jumper gave a hum and a shudder as it came to life, and after an agonizing moment, it started to ease backwards, with only the slightest scrape of metal against metal. John kept his hands steady on the controls, being careful with how much gas he gave it. With a final whine, the jumper freed herself, and John, relieved, lifted her into the air. He launched into a makeshift K-turn and got out of the line of fire, narrowly avoiding a red Volvo with a perplexed- and irritated-looking driver.

"I think we agree that perhaps the carwash was not the best course of plans?" Teyla said, and John noted her voice held a distinct smug superiority to it.

"Well, maybe not," he conceded. "But you do realize that now we'll have to clean the jumper by hand."

Teyla no longer looked so smug.

 

**II.**  
Hindsight being what it was, John should've known from the beginning that something like this would happen. But when he'd signed off on the mile-high pile of paperwork making him responsible for Ronon and Teyla off-base, he hadn't anticipated doing anything more than taking them to a football game. It was Teyla who had asked about animal life, having spent all of her time with Earth people in bases that were quarantined to such things. According to her, she'd had a gyramota as a child, and while John didn't know what that meant, he could only assume it was a dog or a cat, and she wanted to see other dogs and cats, and he caved.

McKay had begged off of the field trip, citing that he was "teamed out" and was going to go back to Canada and visit his sister. Even the presence of Carter, who said that she had spent years in Colorado Springs without even knowing there _was_ a zoo, hadn't persuaded him to change his mind.

John should have been tipped off when Ronon spent the entire outing looking pissed off, and Teyla protested loudly the injustice of caging animals. But John was distracted: Carter had brought Vala along as a treat, and Vala was both very attractive, and very touchy-feely. Not that John didn't find his friends interesting, but they were old hat at this point, and Vala wasn't. He'd sort of lost track of things.

So when the on-duty personal alarm clock disguised as an airman rapped on John's door at 0400, and when that failed to work, crept in at 0402, John really didn't know what was going on. "Sir," the kid stammered, all wide-eyed like he thought John was going to eat him.

"What is it, lieutenant?" John asked, not really paying attention or caring, because he'd been interrupted from a pleasant dream involving one of the nicer planets his team had visited, with a lax dress code.

"Sir, I really think you should see this."

And so John stumbled blearily into the briefing room, half dressed and less awake, blinking at CNN. The night reporter, or morning reporter, or whatever the hell time it was reporter, was delivering a bulletin on the release of over seven hundred animals from the Cheyenne Mountain Zoo.

Anyone else might have asked how they'd gotten out of the base without supervision, or how they'd gotten into the zoo in the middle of the night, or how they'd managed to release all the animals undetected, but John had been working with Ronon for a year now and Teyla for two, and he didn't have to know specifics to know they'd done it. He didn't put anything past either of them.

John wondered idly if the cameraman, in his quest for footage, had actually helped the beleaguered zookeepers at all. The viewing public was treated to a shot of wandering turtles, then one of a curious giraffe, and lastly, footage of a woman, familiar-looking at least to John and any military personnel watching CNN at four in the morning, dressed in her exotic leather best, on the back of a cantankerous hippopotamus. John didn't hear what the newscaster was saying about the woman, because he had finally figured out what a gyramota was.

 

**III.**  
John glanced in the rearview, and noted with amusement that Rodney and Ronon were the perfect tableau of sullen in the backseat. Rodney slouched, arms folded over his chest, curling into himself to make a point. John could only assume the point was 'I am the foremost expert on the Stargate in two galaxies, and yet Xena the warrior princess gets to sit up front; this is the hugest injustice imaginable.' Ronon sat stiffly, tense in his newly acquired Air Force sweatshirt, head scraping the ceiling of the car. John could understand his tension; the Explorer didn't have inertial dampeners, and John hadn't driven in something like two years. It didn't help that he'd taken the most roundabout, gravelly road, straight out of an SUV commercial, and was constantly peering down to check the Mapquest directions perched in his lap.

"You are a much better pilot than driver, Col. Sheppard," Teyla observed, as John failed to maneuver around a pothole roughly the size of a dinosaur footprint.

He returned her smile, deciding to ignore the vague insult contained within her statement. "Hey, we're off-duty now," he said generously. "You can call me John."

"Yes, of course," she said, but he doubted she would remember. She'd been increasingly formal with him since they'd crossed the Stargate onto Earth, and he could only assume she thought her best behavior would reflect positively on John and Stargate Command, not to mention the whole of Athos.

There was a thump behind them, and John looked up to see Ronon pressed to his window like one of those suction-cup Garfields. John tried to figure out what was so fascinating, especially to the poster child for stoic glaring, but they were on an average downtown sort of road, with nothing but business offices closed for the night, and a familiar red sign glowing about a quarter-mile ahead.

"I wanna go to Wendy's," Ronon announced in his usual harsh bark.

John swore he could actually hear Rodney rolling his eyes. "It's not like Wendy is the girl down the street who gives you a discount on yak meat," he said derisively. "Wendy's is a chain restaurant, two things which I'm sure your people have never heard of."

"I know what it is," said Ronon, and John wasn't sure he'd heard the guy correctly. Until he continued, "We used to have one on Sateda." At this, John questioned if that last jumpy turn had made him knock his head against something, because he could not be hearing this right.

Ronon leaned forward and gripped the back of John's headrest. "They still have those Frescata sandwiches?"

 

**VI.**  
"So we're just supposed to shoot each other?" Ronon asked skeptically, hefting the gun with enviable ease.

"Yep," said John, patting down the front of his jacket.

"And it's not for target practice?"

_Yeah, like you need that._ "No, it's just for fun."

"Shooting. For fun."

"Yep."

Ronon shrugged in compliance. "Sometimes, I just don't get your people."

"Yep," John agreed yet again, the lifted his own gun. Ronon bared his teeth with a touch of manic fervor, and John thanked God it was only paint.

Elizabeth had given him one of her looks when he'd started describing the sport at lunch, but oddly enough, it had been Teyla who had first shown interest in actually participating. John figured she'd been the target of John's and Ronon's barbs long enough, and the chance to work out aggression without consequence was appealing. He never knew Teyla had it in her.

As it turned out, they all had it in them, because even Elizabeth and Carson joined the team for the impromptu exercise, and even though John couldn't turn off that tiny military twitch in his brain, and Ronon couldn't turn off the Runner twitch in his, the game still managed to remain a game.

It was just getting good, with John sneaking covertly through the bushes, coming up on Rodney screaming at Carson, "I got you! I'm green, you have a giant green patch on your chest, I got you, will you just _lie down and die_?"

Carson was trying to remain calm, but his voice was moving away from in-the-lab-Carson soothing on the spectrum, and towards field-Carson anxious yelling. "I shot you first, son! You're not supposed to keep shooting after you get shot!"

"Well, you didn't have to shoot so damn hard! Tiny pellets of paint exploding on you _hurt_, you know."

John was trying to keep still, wondering if it was worth it to just shoot them both anyway for fun. He was also trying his damnedest not to laugh, because their antics should have been tiresome and played out, but Rodney's usual flailings had become much funnier when he was covered with giant pink splotches.

He was just setting his gun sights on Rodney's ass, which was cruel, but he could probably pull off a straight face when he said it was an accident, when Teyla ran past Rodney and Carson, hair flying, legs pumping to propel her over roots and loose rocks. She was actually whooping, and not in some demonic battle-cry, but in laughter. She dodged a hail of yellow paint pellets, which exploded left and right on already well-splattered trees, as Ronon chased after her. Much to John's stunned surprise, Ronon was laughing, too.

He was so distracted by watching his team act— well, not entirely like he was used to, that he forgot to actually count the members of the group. He didn't hear the telltale crack of the twig behind him, just the popping sound indicating it was too late. He was rewarded for his lapse in judgment by stinging pain and an enormous purple splash on the back of his vest. John groaned, because it felt like a World Series pitcher had just chucked a baseball at his shoulder, and rolled over to look up at his assailant.

Elizabeth, completely free of any paint marks, cocked her gun and grinned.

 

**V.**  
His spidey sense tingled the second he walked into Stargate Command's commissary and saw McKay, Zelenka, Sam Carter, Dr. Lee, and two individuals he didn't recognize sitting at a table and arguing quietly. He glanced over at the lunch trays and debated just how badly he needed that Jello, but the split second of hesitation was too much. They spotted him.

"John, hi!" Sam said excitably, waving him over. They were all regarding him with interest, and only McKay looked surly. None of them were military except Sam. John waggled his fingers at her with apprehension.

"Come on over," she said, and waved at the empty chair at the other end of the table. John pointed in the direction of the food, and then, reluctantly, nodded. He studied the Jello with the same intent he'd give a battle plan, if he ever looked at those kinds of things. He finally selected red —like it even mattered, because despite what McKay thought, all of it tasted pretty much the same— and went to sit down.

They were all staring at him.

"Rodney told us about your test," Sam said, and John tried to figure out if McKay was coloring because Sam cared about John's Mensa thing, or because she'd called him 'Rodney'.

"Test," John repeated dumbly, although he knew exactly what she meant.

"You took the test for Mensa, right?"

He'd just wanted Jello. He'd just come out of the most insane training session known to man. Ronon, Teyla, and Teal'c were going at it with such intensity that John's muscles were sore just from watching. He'd gotten out of there before he became an accessory to something illegal, or worse, a fourth playmate for the rabid cage match. He still ached from the last time he'd fought with Ronon, and the other man had gotten in a wicked right hook.

Now, he shoved a spoonful of the Jello in his mouth as a stalling device. If they asked him to solve a puzzle, or something equally irritating and weird, he was going to dump the dessert on McKay's head.

"Yeah," he said cautiously. "I took it. I didn't join." He scraped his spoon along the side of the glass, making a point to make as much noise as possible, all the while keeping his expression perfectly neutral and disinterested.

"This really isn't necessary, you know," McKay interjected, much to John's relief. McKay could compare his intelligence to that of a koi fish or a doorknob, John didn't particularly care, just so long as he got to leave. He thought he would fare better with the sparring match from hell.

"Rodney," Sam answered with the tone she had perfected to best deal with him, "at least give John a chance to talk."

"John, there you are," Elizabeth's voice floated over to him, and he looked up to see her, Dr. Jackson, and General Landry. Sam rose attention, as did John, reluctantly, but Landry waved his hand.

"At ease."

"We were hoping you'd come tell us about all of your diplomatic missions for Atlantis," Jackson said. "Not that Dr. Weir's stories aren't fascinating, but she just doesn't have the field experience you do."

Diplomatic missions? What was diplomatic about dodging flaming arrows from crazed cave people who thought you were desecrating their sacred whatever? John had been patently avoiding anywhere Elizabeth had gone this week; not because he didn't enjoy her company, but because he was afraid he was going to have to defend his position as base commander to the higher muckity-mucks at the SGC for the thousandth time. Landry kept his features still, but there was a dangerous dark spark to his eyes that just made John stiffen. There was no love lost there.

"Well..." he began, already thinking that the Mensa thing wasn't looking half-bad in comparison, and wondered if there was a Rubik's Cube lying around for him to play with as a distraction, when a hand landed on his free shoulder. John tensed involuntarily, wondering what the hell else was going to happen.

"Sorry, General," Cameron Mitchell said effortlessly, managing to be both respectful and cavalier. "I've been looking everywhere for this flyboy. He and I have a few things to discuss about our last tour together."

John had no idea what Mitchell was going on about, but he sensed his out. "Yeah, sorry," he said, practically throwing the word over his shoulder like a grenade as he escaped hot on Mitchell's heels.

When they reached the safety of the hallway, John was not so proud as to not breathe his thanks.

"No problem. Listen, I was gonna head out for the one-two punch of beer and ESPN. I don't suppose you'd be interested..."

John hadn't watched a new football game in something like... he'd lost count. "Yeah," he said, and couldn't stop himself from grinning in horrible relief.

Mitchell clapped him on the shoulder. "Welcome back to Earth."


End file.
